My two years at the University of Virginia have proven some of the best memories are made in the presence of a toilet. Ladies, you know as well as I do we can’t go to the bathroom alone.
The time crunch has begun and the pressure is on. Scrolling daily through the infinite amount of study abroad options, I have examined the same online program brochures countless times.
I live in a beautiful brick house on Wertland Street — a house you or a friend probably once mistook as a fraternity satellite house, or maybe just the house with the bushes where your red cup landed during block party.
“I just wanna hook up with him and get it over with, you know? I need to move on with my life.” I snorted and shook my head as I stirred my Cheerios, slowly taking in what my refreshingly blunt hall mate, “Stephanie,” was telling me.
As I sat smiling in my car, watching a guy holding a bouquet of flowers cross the street, I began to think about how strange flowers are as a symbol of love. Now before I elaborate upon this thought, let me make a few disclaimers.
After a tiring Thursday packed with classes, a Queer Students Union meeting homework, third-year College student Jomar Figueroa and second-year College student Connor Roessler had one last important task: prep.
Second-year College student still can’t tell his kids “How I Met Your Mother.” This couple’s Crozet Pizza date was pretty one-sided.
Every student at the University hears the word “tradition” time and time again, from the beginning of orientation to the day of graduation.
From the beginning, U.Va. has had a bit of a problem with sex. Like everything great about this beautiful school, the story begins with our old pal TJ.
Because last fall I was in Texas, this is my first football season in over a year back in good ol’ Virginia.
Two weeks ago, on that hallowed Monday night before the first day of classes, I found myself pondering a question which has plagued many the intelligent, modern female Cavalier: “What will this outfit say about me?” After all, we’d be lying to ourselves if we said that our “first day” outfits weren’t still a priority.
8:00 a.m.: Paper, column, breakfast (maybe), coffee (definitely), research proposal, shower, stress. 10:47 a.m.: Wallet, keys, phone, out the door.
I’ve always straddled the fence that divides colors and words, hoping to somehow be the bridge. When I was in third grade I tried to explain to my mom that my teacher was a green teacher and Sheridan Webster’s teacher was a blue teacher.
As a Life columnist – I’ve got a little more leeway with my language, my assumptions, and my stories, because all views are only mine.
The 850 U.Va. students who have hopped the pond to Lyon, France have one person to thank for their opportunity to study, explore and grow overseas: French Professor Janet Horne.
Soon enough, the DJ switches songs. Chelsea screams that she loves this song; Brad agrees that no one could dislike Levels and suggests that they dance. What follows is a traditional motion so hideous and disjointed that it remains a miracle people perform such an act in public, let alone in an attempt to indicate intimacy and attraction.
There is a fine line between childhood and adulthood and I’m not quite sure where I stand. I suppose many college students feel this way — as if we are toeing the border, regularly stumbling onto both sides of the spectrum.
Whether you’re the next Gordon Ramsay or are just learning how to put Bagel Bites in the microwave, all college students love the prospect of a cheap meal.
The blue and orange awning that extends above the Corner’s brick sidewalk is an unmistakable landmark of the Charlottesville area.
I am the queen of inappropriate early sweater wearing. The minute the temperature drops below 70 degrees you’ll find me in one — probably rocking black leggings and boots along with it.
